


Come to the ball

by Prawnperson



Series: Submarine series [12]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: 1920s music, A million points if anyone knows what this is based on, Charleston, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, SORRY this is so cliche, Webber loves dancing and dress up, also! Wheeler babey!!!!, please let him have this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prawnperson/pseuds/Prawnperson
Summary: Free time should be spent wisely.





	Come to the ball

“Now, let’s go back to the start: it has to be a majority vote.”  
Wilson calls, clearly becoming frazzled with the ongoing racket. 

They’ve been at this for a good half hour now. With the spring resources bled dry in the run up to summer, chests packed and camp secured and thermal stones looked out from storage, the survivors have been left with an abundance of a rare and valuable commodity-free time.

“Abigail says she will scream if she has to watch one more puppet show.”

Wendy shoots an accusing look to Wes when she says it. He promptly folds his hands in his lap, lets out a small huff.

“How aboüt a makë shïft battlë arëna?”

Wilson bites his lip and looks down at the ever-growing list of strange and downright dangerous ideas.

“I’ll put it in the hypothetical column....”

Willow pats him sympathetically on the back, watches him run his hands through his hair, making it look even more like he’s been electrocuted. The chatter grows around them, the campers shouting equally ridiculous ideas for what to do, until Webber, who has been uncharacteristically quiet throughout all of this, cuts in.

“What about a ball?”

The rest of the camp falls silent, giving Webber a chance to continue on.

“My mum had one whenever I was little. We weren’t allowed downstairs, but we watched through the conservatory banisters. It looked like ripping fun!”

Willow claps her hands together enthusiastically. Wendy nods, almost approvingly, and places a hand on Webber’s back.

“Webber is quite right. We shall have a ball.”

Wilson pulls his usual worried expression, and, as is anticipated by the others, begins to fret.

“I don’t know...that seems an awful lot of resources for something so frivolous...and a party is such a great hassle to organise...”

There’s a small ruckus among the others. Winona shakes her head authoritatively.

“Lights shouldn’t take up too much fuel. We’ve got enough flooring laid out to have a proper go at it.”

Still, Wilson is not convinced. He checks over his notes for better ideas, yet still comes up with nothing. It seems that a ball is the best option they have.

“Would it not be a great drain on food?”

Warly perks up dramatically at the mention of that. 

“Not at all! We have quite enough stored up, and it’s not like we’re about to go into winter. We can always get more from the farms. I’ve always wanted to make something for a big party...”

As if on cue, Willow sidles up to Wilson and places a gentle hand on his knee, making him startle.

“C’mon, Wils. What could one little party hurt, hmm?”

Wilson groans. She always has a habit of turning him round to something like this. He really ought to find some way to counteract it.

“Fine. We will host a ball.”

—— 

On the night of the ball, there are fire flies. Fireflies and loud, crackly music playing from a gramophone that Wilson and Winona made. In accordance to Maxwell’s almost tearful pleading, they have elected to not play ‘ragtime’. There’s a variety of food, most of which was cooked in Warly’s trusty crockpot. Many of them are on the wooden decking, in various partnerships. Willow’s leaning comfortably against Wilson’s shoulder. Wigfrid has Wes in a playfully rough embrace. WX-78 is sitting rather awkwardly on a log set to the side of the main dancing area.

“Hey.”

Walani greets, standing casually in front of them, hand on hip. WX looks up and is mildly alarmed whenever they see that she, along with most of the others, have made makeshift formal attire for the occasions. It was mainly due to Webber’s love of dress up, and thankfully, Willow was able to convince the more doubting of the group that all resources could be returned as soon as the night was over. 

Walani’s dress is made of old sail cloth that’s been dyed red along the hem with flower petals, one piece of silky braided rope tied just nicely around her waist. The knot in it is hidden by what looks vaguely like a rose blossom.

“Are you not gonna dance?”

deadpan, WX shoots her a glare. A withering one. 

“I DO NOT DANCE. I AM NOT SOME IDIOTIC HUMAN.”

Walani rolls her eyes and grabs them by the hand, yanking them to their feet with unexpected force and dragging them to an unoccupied space on the floor. WX lets out an alarming noise as they try to pull away, but her grip on their arm is too strong.

“You have to dance. Those are the rules.”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW.”

After a short pause from her, she takes the hand she’s holding and raises it just level with her shoulder. WX feels warm and disgusted and jittery.

“Put your hand on the small of my back.”

WX makes their disgust plain on their face, but obediently lays their palm at her lower back. Walani drapes an arm over their shoulder, and steps backwards, once. WX trips over their own feet in an attempt to avoid getting stepped on.

“Move in time to the music, dude.”

The current tune is a jaunty, up beat one. WX vaguely recognises is as Charleston, something they can barely remember hearing from a tinny radio in the workshop where they were built. The sound is familiar and nostalgic, as much as they hate to admit it.

“I’m kind of bad at timed dances.”

“HM.”

They choose to neither confirm nor deny the fact as Walani skillfully steps with the quick beat of the music. They move clumsily and slowly in comparison, but still barely keep up with her. There’s a sudden jolt in the music, a flare of sound. Walani turns her hand and spins out, once. WX sees that the others are doing the same, except for Wendy and Webber, who are simply bobbing happily in time to the song, hand in claw.

She turns back in, kicks her heel back in something that looks suspiciously improvised. She’s smiling wide, obviously enjoying herself. WX finds a half smirk on their own face.

“Dip me.”

She instructs.

“WHAT?”

“The cue in the music!”

Almost frighteningly, dramatically, the surfer swings herself into WX’s arms. They barely manage to catch her as she tilts her head backwards. They’re inexplicably drawn to the sight of her like this. She looks up, only just registering their face close to hers. There’s a lull in the music. WX leans in slightly closer, darts their glance from her neck to her eyes, then down to her lips. Walani is unsure as to what exactly she’s doing, but she’s certain she wants to carry it through. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud crashing sound coming from the forest just behind the camp. Mere seconds later, a large patch of thicket in the recently felled clearing catches light, sending a great lick of flames into the night air with an accompanying shriek from Webber and awed gasp from Willow.

The merriment of the party is immediately abandoned as the survivors sprint towards the source of the light. Upon reaching the clearing, they can see chunks of debris scattered on the grass and amongst the tree stumps. Pieces of rock, dried meats, a machete stuck haphazardly into the trunk of an evergreen, scraps of braided wicker. The most interesting thing, however, is a dark haired woman sitting amongst the wreckage of what appears to be a hot air balloon.

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Rewriting scenes from my favourite tv show that no one has ever heard of? It’s more likely than you think!


End file.
